Michael Smerconish is host of the new CNN program “Smerconish,” which debuts Saturday, March 8, at 9 a.m. EST and will feature more on this story, including an exclusive interview with Albert Snyder.

Walt Fisher’s obituary, after he lost his battle with lung cancer, was notable for what it didn’t reveal. When the 57-year-old from York, Pa., died in the spring of 2011, the local Daily Record reported his place of birth (Hershey); the names of his parents (Harold and Mary, née Spangler); his employer (JoS. A. Bank Clothiers); and even his hobbies (music, reading and spending time at the beach). Reference was also made to those who survived him: “a brother, Patrick E. Kling, and his wife, Wendy of Hummelstown; a step-brother, David Kling, and his wife, Susan of Harrisburg; a nephew, Noah Kling; and an aunt, Doris Eby of Hershey.”

Despite listing some of those Fisher held dear, the obituary was silent about the most important person in his life for his final 14 years: Nothing was said of Albert Snyder.

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Of course, mention of Al would have raised some eyebrows. He had been in the newspapers plenty in recent months, on account of the landmark free speech case he had lost at the Supreme Court, just 10 weeks before Walt’s death. Al’s court fight had grown out of the battle he had been waging for years against a homophobic church that disrupted his son’s military funeral in 2006—a case that raised monumental questions about the limits of free speech, to say nothing of the bounds of human decency. Desperate to advance a convoluted belief that soldiers’ deaths demonstrated God’s disdain for America’s homosexuals, the Topeka, Kansas-based Westboro Baptist Church had, in the years since the American invasion of Iraq, staged headline-grabbing protests at the funerals of military personnel. The subsequent court battle Al waged over his son’s funeral brought him a measure of grim notoriety, but never publicly revealed—until now—was Al’s added motivation for fighting the cult that wrongly, viciously implied that his son was gay—namely that Al, who was Walt’s partner, is himself gay.

***

News of a loved one’s passing tends to ripple through family and friends. When Al lost Walt, that’s how things felt. But four years earlier, word of his son’s death had spread more like a tornado—a storm that started in March 2006 with the chime of a doorbell. Matt Snyder, a Marine barely out of his teens, had been deployed to Iraq for only a few weeks when Al was summoned to the door. He had been getting out of the shower on a Friday night. It was dinnertime, and his first thought was that his youngest daughter, Tracie, had once again forgotten her keys. She had been living with Al and Walt for three years.

Al hurriedly put on clothes, walked toward the door and turned on the porch light. Where he expected to see 17-year-old Tracie stood two U.S. Marines in full dress uniforms. Al immediately recognized the meaning of their presence.

“Please tell me no. Please tell me no. Please tell me he’s OK.”

Al crumbled into the arms of one of the Marines, who whispered to him, “Let’s go inside.” There, in the living room, he was formally told the news he had dreaded. “Mr. Snyder, your son died this morning.”

Al’s response was extemporaneous. “Fuck you, George Bush and Dick Cheney,” he shouted. His body shook, and tears ran down his face. His next impulse was to call Walt, who was working nearby at a men’s clothier. “Matt was killed. Come home.”

“Oh my God, I’ll be right there,” Walt replied.

The Marines stayed with Al until Walt was at his side, and they were satisfied he was safe. Al’s next concern was for his ex-wife and the Marines who would soon visit her. He called his oldest daughter, Sarah, and asked her to get to her mother’s house right away.

“Why, Dad?”

Marine Lance Corporal Matthew Snyder was only 20 when he died in Iraq, just five weeks into his deployment there. | Photo courtesy of Albert Snyder

“Sarah,” Al told his daughter, “you’ve got to go to your mother’s house now. They’re getting ready to give her some information, and she can’t be alone when she gets this.”

After a moment, Sarah seemed to comprehend the message.

“Oh my God, is Matt OK?”

“Sarah, please, just go over to the house to be with your mother.”

Then Al called his sister, Bonnie, and asked that she get in touch with the rest of the family. Meanwhile, Tracie was still at her waitressing job nearby. Al called the manager and said he was coming to get her.

“When I got there, she was bussing tables, and she waved and smiled,” Al remembers. “She said, ‘Are you coming to eat?’”

“No,” Al said. “Tracie, you have to come home.”

She said she wouldn’t leave until her father told her what he was doing there, what was going on. “I had no choice. In the middle of the restaurant I had to tell her that her brother Matt had been killed, and I can remember her just screaming until her boss brought over her coat and I took her out.”

For Al, that was the hardest—telling Matt’s sisters that they had lost their brother. “I don’t know why, or if it works like that in every family, but after my wife and I separated my kids clung to one another,” Al now explains. “They were not only siblings, but best friends.”

Marine Lance Corporal Matthew A. Snyder, age 20, died on March 3, 2006, in Al Qaim, in Al Anbar Province, Iraq, while sitting in the gunner position of a Humvee. The casualty report states that: “The convoy was returning from Camp Al Qaim en route to Camp Al Asad when it was involved in a single vehicle rollover in the vicinity of Al Qaim. LCPL Snyder was medevaced [sic] to the Al Qaim surgical shock trauma platoon where he was pronounced dead.”

Matt’s deployment had begun on Feb. 12; his death came just five weeks later. His obituary noted that he was the “beloved son of Julia A. Snyder (nee Francis) and Albert L. Snyder, as well as the beloved brother of Sarah Anne and Tracie Lynne.” His grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins were also mentioned.

There was no mention of Walt, his father’s longtime partner.

***

If Matt could have read his obituary, he probably would not have liked the omission of Walt’s name. When corresponding with his father during his military training and brief career in the Marines, he was quick to ask about “Mr. Walt.”

Al and Matt were constantly writing to one another, starting when Matt began basic training at Parris Island, S.C. Al was always touched by the simple, personal way Matt would address his envelopes: “Dad,” at 760 Spring Ln., York, PA 17403.

Matt's letters home to his father were addressed simply "Dad." | Photo courtesy of Albert Snyder

Mail was initially Matt’s only way to communicate with his family; call privileges didn’t come until basic training was over. His early notes, on letterhead from Parris Island, were handwritten, usually just a page long and mostly offering tidbits about the rigors of his new military life and his yearning for sports news from the outside world:

“I found out the Marlins won the World Series in game 6 when I was at church. We fought with Pugil sticks the other day. I won the first round and the last two rounds were no decisions. The time is going quick. You should see how good my platoon looks when we march.”

Although he often described the demands of his basic training, Matt never complained. His only need seemed to be postage, so that he could tell his family more. And usually he would ask Al to send his regards to Walt.

“I’m getting used to the yelling already. I’m looking forward to being a Marine. … I love you. Tell Mr. Walt I said hi.”

On another occasion, Matt wrote:

“I’m loving the martial arts we learn, we do that every other day. The fleas are horrible, they bite and feel like mosquitos and you can’t smack them off or you’ll be doing a lot of pushups. … Tell Mr. Walt hi and to read this if he wants. I love you.”

Al’s replies were a father’s combination of family updates and sports reports. A typical greeting card is one Al sent to Parris Island depicting two people on opposite sides of the world. Inside, the message reads: “No Fair. Thinking of You.” In neat penmanship, the product of his strict Catholic education, Al told his son:

“Sorry to hear you’ve been pushed around a little. It’s all part of the plan, to make you a good Marine. By the way, did you hear the Ravens lost their quarterback Kyle Bowler for 6-8 weeks due to leg injuries, Uncle Mark is devastated.”

“Sleep well and know how much you are loved and missed here. With much heart, Dad.”